


Love Language

by snarkengaged



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkengaged/pseuds/snarkengaged
Summary: Detective [REDACTED] decides to give love back to their friends. Mason/Detective, but romance is NOT the focus.
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by something Sera answered on tumblr and a follow up post by Agentfreckles. Will be following up with a short chapter for each member, but there’s a consistent canon of nb!Detective/Mason. So, Ava, Nat, Felix, Mason are our lineup. Feel free to read it as any version of the characters, though. If you’re curious about the name, well. Listen. Some of us aren’t imaginative and an idea strikes us as funny once and we commit, alright.

It’s been three weeks since Unit Bravo left on their mission away from Wayhaven. 

Rebecca didn’t say where they were headed; looked down at her coffee when Detective [REDACTED] asked what they were working on. 

A muscle in their jaw twitched. Given their relationship, it’s not clear to the Detective how much of that is who’s fault. Both of them, if they’re generous. Probably more in their court now, if they’re fair. It’s hard to keep a clear head where their mother is concerned.

But she did reassure them then: Bravo would be back in three weeks. Maybe a day or two longer, but she’d text them any updates. 

Her message this morning had sent them scrambling out of bed, day off or no.

It wasn’t just him getting home, either. No, the Detective had plans. They’re out the door in a heartbeat, feeling excited for the first time in weeks.

*

The warehouse had sat empty all that time. Nat was usually the one to take care of it-it wasn’t ever a wreck or anything, but she was the one who felt the need to fix pillows, clear tables. And it was a need, as the Detective had observed within the first week of seeing the place, to make it feel welcoming. 

Nat had laughed ruefully, casting her fond gaze over the group scattered across the room. “It’s our first real home, Detective. Forgive me my eccentricities.”

In the present, closing their car door loud enough to echo in the quiet woods, the Detective frowns. Their mind flicks towards Ava, whose long dedication to the Agency surely deserved better treatment than that. She drives them a little crazy, but that’s still not right. They shoulder their bags with renewed determination, and walk.

It wasn’t all on Nat, though. More than once, they’d seen her turn a look merely suggesting disappointment on the others, and they’d leapt to help. No, they all wanted the place to feel like that, even if they didn’t know it. The common areas may be Nat’s domain, but they all worked on it in small parts. And given how comforted [REDACTED] felt thinking of the space, maybe Sewell was right to fuss over pillows. It had clearly worked on all of them.

Not so, now.

They stand in the entrance, and it’s like a stranger’s house. It’s not because of what is there-the beginnings of dust, stagnant air-but because of what isn’t.

There’s no scent of (their heart clenches) pine needles and cigarette smoke clinging around the entryway. No boots tossed carelessly against one wall. They walk further in, slowly, feeling like an intruder.

It’s dark. The fireplace is empty as they look in, and the lamp is unlit by Nat’s favourite armchair. Her stack of books have been put away, and the end table looks strangely empty without them. Just beyond it is the couch where Felix likes to curl up. 

They’d forgotten what it looked like without his jacket tossed over the back, without a too-long cord snaking over the arm to charge his phone. They can almost hear Mason swearing about it. 

They don’t like any of it being gone.

And Ava’s post by the windows...the curtains surely need to be beaten and washed. The Detective wanders up and looks out at the early dawn peeking through the forest’s canopy. How many minute details of the world outside have gone unnoticed without her here? Without her watch, her “vigil” as Nat had called it?

They smile to themselves, but it feels lonely. Looking behind them back into the house, they are struck by it only feeling like a crypt now. For all it’s furnished beauty, it feels hostile and alien. 

The Detective sighs, puts down their supplies, and gets to work. 

*

Ava may not need sleep like she used to, but she doesn’t feel like it today. 

The mission had gone...well enough. But not perfectly. If she hadn’t been faster, if they hadn’t adapted as well together-

She can’t help but go over it, again and again. There is always room for improvement. 

They did well, some traitorously proud part of her thinks. Your team did well. She ducks her head and focuses on moving toward the house, doubling down on strategies.

She doesn’t notice until she hears Nat exclaim softly,“Oh, they remembered! I wasn’t sure they would.”

Ava looks up, and stares.

Felix stands at the open door, backpack slung over his shoulder. Nat is peering over him, her leather satchel loosely held in one hand.

And beyond them-light.

Returning home is always the worst part to Ava. She remembers a time where it didn’t used to be, where there would be people always keeping a roaring fire in the hearth. Now...no matter how much she yearns to return, there is always a period of adjustment after they’ve spent time away. Inevitably, they’re always exhausted from the work and then what happens after: debriefings, red tape until she can’t hear a word anyone says anymore. And then for her reward to be a cold house she barely recognizes…

It’s not home again, really. Not for those first few days.

Mason walks up behind her. 

“No heartbeat,” he says gruffly. 

Ava nods silently, not looking at him. She knows he’s disappointed [REDACTED] isn’t still here, that they’re back home or perhaps down at the station. Out, living their mortal life with it’s numbered days.

But as she walks across clean floors and sees softly glowing lamps, breathes fresh air, she finds it doesn’t matter.

Her shoulders loosen, just slightly.


	2. Nat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expressing love platonically to friends in their preferred ways. This chapter focuses on Nat, ostensibly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got meandering but, I like it enough that I didn’t want to cut it. It’s the 2020 mood.

“Thanks for this, Nat,” [REDACTED] calls into the dark barn for maybe the tenth time. They know they must be annoying her at this rate, but it’s so embarrassing. Wayhaven’s detective being laid low by a broken ladder is not...great. So much for the mayor’s favoritism with the budget. 

They rub their shorn scalp fretfully and frown into the gloom.

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Detective. I wanted to get out of the house anyway,” she calls from somewhere up near the rafters. “I think I see it!”

They sidle fully into the barn and out of the golden light of the early evening’s rays. The sun had already begun to hunker down behind the trees when they’d arrived; they’re cutting it close, now. In the shadow, they shiver and stuff their hands into the pocket of their old hoodie.

It takes some careful footwork to avoid the horse shit but they are-sadly-practiced. “Yeah? Think you got it?”

Nat drops down suddenly in front of them, smiling apologetically when they swear.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. But this wrapping, it looks like you said-“

The detective’s eyes widen. 

“Yes! You’re a life saver, Nat,” they exclaim, clapping her on the shoulder. Their hands are gentle when they take the heavily wrapped parcel from her, and they turn, jerking their head towards the old farmhouse. Trusting her to follow, they start walking. 

“You have no idea what it’ll mean to her that we found this,” they babble over their shoulder. 

Nat smiles at her friend’s excitement, and cranes over their shoulder to look at it in the light. “Well, now you’ve piqued my curiosity,” she laughs. “What is it?”

“You’re going to love it,” they beam. “She had a bunch-different holidays, seasons, some were just for fun. But this one has been in the family for generations. You’ll love it,” they repeat. “It’s historical.”

Nat’s smile turns into a grin. “Ah yes, of course,” she answers ruefully. “I should have guessed. It certainly wasn’t that you needed my height or my...acrobatic prowess. You just knew I’d want to see it as a fan of history.”

[REDACTED] snorts as they ascend the steps to the porch. “Am I wrong?” they laugh as they press the buzzer; an answering voice warbles a request for a minute. They turn towards Nat, brow arched.

She sighs. “Admittedly, no.”

“That’s what I thought. Anyway, what was I saying? ...right, so they’ve had this for decades, probably longer. Brought it from the old country, you know. And seeing it come out every year was like-it was the best part of every weekend.”

Nat gives the Detective a kind but quizzical look, as she adjusts her jacket. “Do you-are you related to these people, or-? How do you know all this?”

They go still, and awkwardly glance towards the door. Both of them can hear an old woman making her way towards them on the other side.

“Remember when I said I had a troubled youth?” they say quietly, not looking at Nat. “These people-this place-was where I did most of my community service. It was part of the deal that got me my job. Told me to...clean up my act.”

They huff to themselves, watching the entry light flick on as they shift uncomfortably. “Spent a lot of time here.” 

Before she can respond, the door slowly opens.

The elderly woman who greets them is warmly dressed for the season, in somber colours. Her face is stern, but it softens immediately when she sees the detective. She throws her thin arms wide with surprising vigor. 

“You!” she crows, grabbing [REDACTED] at the arms, as though unsure if she should hug them or not. “It has been too long, I knew you’d forgotten about your old Sharon.” She clicks her tongue irritably. “Come here, come here into the light. You are well? Who is your pretty friend? Did you finally get married?” 

The detective chokes, eyes wide, and Nat is overcome with imagining them trying to introduce Mason to this old firecracker. With suggesting they were-

Nat bites her lip to stop herself from laughing.

But she relents, and ducks her head in greeting, stepping forward. “I should be so lucky,” she interjects smoothly, grasping the woman’s hand gently. Her voice is warm with suppressed laughter.

The detective, struggling to regain control, introduces them distractedly. “Sharon Kaplan, meet my friend Natalie Seawell. Nat, this is Mrs. Sharon Kaplan.”

Nat brings her other hand over the back of Sharon’s to clasp it, smiling. “I am beyond honored to meet you, Mrs. Kaplan. Your land and home are lovely, if I may say so.”

Sharon chuckles. “You may! Very nice, very gallant,” she says approvingly, and then arches a brow. “What on earth is someone like you doing with this one?” 

The laughter is startled out of Nat; she likes this woman immensely.“Keeping them out of trouble, of course.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” the old woman replies, fixing [REDACTED] with a penetrating look.

They cough. 

“Actually, we’re here for a reason,” they say flatly. “She-” they nod toward Nat, “-helped me get something for you.”

“Oh..?”

They look at Sharon with a certain hesitation in their expression. “We...found this in the old barn. I thought maybe you’d like to use it this year.”

They hold the parcel out to her.

The moment stretches horribly.

Sharon’s hands tremble as she reaches out towards it. Suddenly, she looks her age. “You-found it? How on earth-where-”

“Don’t worry about that,” [REDACTED] says gruffly. “What matters is it’s back, right?”

Sharon glances up at them, her whole body still as she seems to measure the detective. Nat has lived many lives by now, seen many things; but the look that passes between the two humans encompasses something else.

“Yes, of-of course,” Sharon replies somewhat stiffly. She glances towards the sky. “Oh! It’s closer than I thought. I should go-” she starts to walk off back into the house, then stops in the doorway, turning back to them. 

“Will you both be joining me? As you may recall, it’s quick,” she says to the detective. “But now that the house is quieter these days, I find it…”

“Difficult to observe alone?” [REDACTED] finishes softly.

Sharon doesn’t say anything, looks away; but nods. She looks, to Nat’s sympathetic eyes, astounding, shockingly, horribly lonely.

Nat jumps slightly to feel the detective’s hand on her arm. She looks down. 

They jerk their head towards the doorway. “Come on, Nat. You’ll like this.” 

*

Nat and [REDACTED] are waiting on the porch now, some time later. They can hear the dishes clinking in the kitchen; Sharon refused to let guests help her clean up. They wait on the promise of packaged leftovers to take home. Nat is more excited than she’d like to admit to have homemade leftovers in her fridge from someone else’s kitchen.

Both of them, sitting in the dark of real evening now, seem hesitant to break the comfortable silence. The friends lean on the railing and look out across the fields. Above them, in front of them, all around them dusting the tree tops...is a beautiful night sky. Down in the valley, visible but closer than it feels, lies Wayhaven proper. 

Nat couldn’t live out here in the quiet woods by herself, but she could visit. She hopes to. 

“Will she be alright out here?” Nat asks softly. 

[REDACTED] nods. “I told her I’d see about getting some extra farm hands to help with the horses and cattle. I know she says she doesn’t need them with the seasonals, but…” they trail off. 

Nat waits.

“It was...easier for her, when we were all here,” they finish. “In some ways, anyway.”

They shift, but don’t look over. “It wasn’t me. I just want you to know that.”

Nat glances over at them. She thinks they might look a little pale. “What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t the one who stole it.” 

They swallow, eyes unfocused on the mass of black trees. “Or-I guess I was the one who hid it but-one of the others. He was...sick. He wasn’t thinking straight. He was a little younger than the rest of us, was...convinced he couldn’t get his life right. She and Mr Kaplan really looked after him. He had a tough time. I had to hide it after he kept trying to...sell it. He wasn’t well.”

They look over. “I don’t regret hiding it. I think it would’ve broken her heart if she knew he was struggling that bad under her own roof. Maybe I should’ve told her but we were all dumb kids, you know? I was a little too old to be that dumb but, well.” They laugh. It sounds forced.

“But-that it was me who did whatever she thought happened, I think..that hurt her. She knew Rebecca wasn’t observant either, knew...I’m not really religious. But I think she thought I stole it and-you know. I think that might’ve hurt her more. Like I...really failed her hard. I do regret that.”

They clear their throat, look down. “But anyway. I didn’t want you to think I was a thief. That’s not something I want.”

Nat reaches over and slings one arm around their shoulders. “Hey,” she says quietly. “I wouldn’t think that of you in a million years. You have been boundless in your generosity to the team. I couldn’t think that of you now, even if that had been who you used to be. People change.”

The detective nods quickly. Nat pretends she doesn’t see it when they surreptitiously wipe their eyes with the back of their hand.

Steady tinkling of the wind chimes helps even out the heavy silence, and eventually, they are comfortable again. 

Sharon totters out, covering her yawning mouth with plastic containers, and the friends move apart to help her. The disbursement of the food causes them all to chuckle as either guest vies for the “best” helpings.

“Thank you so much for welcoming me into your home, Sharon,” Nat says, smiling down at her. “May I...call on you next Friday?”

“I’ll be vexed if you don’t,” Sharon answers, her mouth twitching at the corner despite her exhaustion. “Drag this one along too, would you? They have some catching up to do.”

The glance they send the detective’s way is sharp, if fond. Nat’s heart warms to see a small smile on the detective’s usually dour looking face in response. 

“Yeah, yeah,” they say flippantly. “It’s not like we’re following it right anyway. I’m not walking home.”

Nat just catches the wink they send her, and she turns away and pretends to cough to hide her chuckle. 

“No, but you’re keeping the spirit of it,” Sharon retorts easily. “And for one so long out of practice, that’s better than nothing.”

She takes a step forward, and holds the detective’s face in her wrinkled hands. They look startled but accept it. 

“It is about spending time together, focused on what is important, dear one,” she says surprisingly gently. “For now, that is what I would have you keep and remember. Start small.”

She smacks their cheek. “Now, get off my porch and let an old woman get to sleep. Shameful behaviour, keeping me up to this hour.”

Nat laughs.

As she walks away, she turns back to watch the detective get into their car safely. They wave as the car starts, and Nat watches them from the forest’s edge as they drive down the road. 

Before she goes, she looks back to the farmhouse. Sharon has gone inside and locked up for the night. Nat listens for her heartbeat, and feels a sense of deep calm when it is slow and steady and as healthy as to be expected. 

The vampire walks into the dark woods as the last of the menorah’s candles flicker out in the front window.


End file.
